The door opened quietly, and a young woman came in. She looked about her for a moment, then sank to the floor at the Storyteller's feet.

"I hear tales each day of this world full of wonder
I hear people say,"You can harvest the plunder"
But as I reach out with a trembling hand
All the gold coins just turn into sand. Sir," she said quietly, "I need help.

"I feel very weary, my temper is biting
I know I've grown leery and tired of the fighting
I pray everyday that it all will be grand
But I sure could use help of your kind, friendly hand

"My family is dead. The life I have been leading has been leading to death. I need something real.

"Please, Storyteller, pull a tale from your pocket
Spin me a story from your coattail so bare
My heart has turned cold, my dreams are too old
And I need to know magic's still there

"My own coat's too thin and I'm down to the lining
The spirit within on itself is entwining
My colors are faded, my cuffs are both worn
And the seam down the back is all tattered and torn

"I heard of you yesterday. Someone was talking of you, and they told me where to find you. I've tried every thing else. I…need something more.

"I walk through your door, see the smile that won't tire
I sit on the floor with your dog by the fire
You'll guide me on walkways where the faerie lights burn
And I hope that I never return

"Show me what I must do to live again."

The Storyteller leaned forward and placed his hand on her head. "My daughter, it is well. Come, I will show you what you must do."

He led her to a window and told her to look out. "What do you see?"

"I see a young girl in a crown and a beautiful dress. She looks like a queen. She looks like –" the woman gasped. "It's me. But I'm Susan Pevensie, I'm no queen."

"Daughter of Eve, look again. What do you see?"

"I see a young woman. Her hair is nearly to her feet. Her hands are ever working to bring joy and harmony to her people, and her feet run to make others welcome to her home. Who is she?"

"Look again."

"Oh." The soft cry escaped her lips. "It's me. But –" she hesitated, looking ashamed. "I never did anything to serve anyone. I only wanted to have fun."

"You did serve. Once, long ago. Think, Queen Susan. Remember. A castle on the sea. Animals that talked. Dryads. Naiads. Satyrs. Dwarves. Fauns. Aslan. "

A shiver of delight and remembrance ran through Susan. Her hands reaching out toward the window and the rising sun that could now be seen through it, she cried aloud, "Aslan! Aslan! Aslan! Narnia! The four thrones! Cair Paravel! Caspian! And Aslan – Aslan said Peter and I couldn't come back. And I – I was angry. I left Aslan. Will He –" she clasped her hands in front of her, and like a child said eagerly, "will He forgive me and let me come home?"

"My daughter," the Storyteller smiled, a strong and infinitely tender smile. "My daughter, He has forgiven you. He and your brothers and sister wait for you, but you yet have work to do here. You must tell others what Aslan has done for you. Tell them the stories. For as long as Aslan is glorified, all will be well."

"Who'll keep the firelight bright when you're gone?
Who has the insight to help me go on?
You taught me that stories, once told, can come true
And I hope that I will tell them with magic, like you.

"As long as He is glorified."